Flatware and Firey Fusion
by Atriel
Summary: The Weasley Family Heirlooms have never brought so much fun, or so much trouble. D/G/?B. Rating subject to change.
1. Flatware 01

"Flatware"

_Disclaimer: I do not own Draco (sobs herself quietly to sleep every night), Ginny, or anything else to do with the Potterverse. These belong to J.K. Rowling. You can sue me, but please note that the electric bill, phone bill, internet bill, and my student loans come first. After that and food there'll probably be like 2 cents to rub together. Enjoy it._

Chapter One:

I suppose in some ways, I shouldn't be particularly surprised. Draco's always been the person he is. There have been some major choices in his life, and he's not generally one to ignore his mistakes, but I hardly expected him to show up at my door with not flowers or apologies, but a simple dish to replace the one he'd broken. He couldn't have known that it was my mother's favorite dish. He couldn't have possibly seen me heading for the corner he was turning just at that perfect second, when the Trickster gods just couldn't let either of us walk away cleanly with a few sneered words, and hateful glares. In truth, we walked right into each other, and by fate alone things changed.

I burst into tears; porcelain shards scattered across the bleak linoleum of the Ministry hall, as I fell to my knees to retrieve what was left of my mother's sole family heirloom. My father's mother had given it to her, and she'd cherished it, knowing that Grandma Anathema had always hated her. It was perfectly polished, and ornate, not gaudy, and was only used on special occasions.

When it'd been left to me, after her passing, I was so … emotional. Happy that something (if only one thing) was finally mine, and only mine. Sad because she was gone, and I'd have rather she was here and I had nothing, than to lose her. It was a sad time, one that I was learning to get over. Using the piece was therapeutic for me.

He stared down at me, in the middle of the mess, silently crying, and sighed, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet before I could do myself any irreparably damage. He cast a silent repairo, and handed me the newly mended flatware, and silently walked away. I knew it would never be the same, mended by even his powerful magic.

.:||:.

Apparently he knew it too. My doorbell rang several days later. I sighed quietly, padding my way into the hall, and opening the door expectantly, and he was there. As posh and sophisticated as ever I'd seen him, dove grey slacks, matching waistcoat, and overcloak, looking perfectly pressed over his starched white shirt. He smelled of clean, and some spicy probably expensive cologne, and in his elegant, slim fingers he held a box.

"Ms. Weasley." He nodded to me in greeting. I stared, shocked by his sudden appearance, and the motives that it hinted at. He held the white box out to me, wrapped in what looked like bleached leather, and lined in soft leaf green velvet. I opened it with a brief click and gasped. Inside, a large bone white china centerpiece lay nestled in the recess of its velvet lining. Depicted in the center was the Weasley crest, a lioness rearing against an unseen foe, while cubs cowered behind. A small smile of wonder and appreciation stole across my face, and he raised an eyebrow in question.

I stepped backward, allowing him entrance and closed the door, setting the piece on the coffee table, still entranced as I flicked my wand at the kettle. He sat straight-backed and proud in the armchair he'd chosen, as if it were completely natural to be sitting there, in the belly of his family most hated rival, bearing gifts. I brought his tea out to him, serving him first, and then myself before I gently lifted the ornate platter from it's casing, and examined it minutely.

"I'm not sure what to say." I murmured truthfully. I expected him to smirk, or sneer. To raise an expectant eyebrow, and look down his perfectly formed nose at me, the lowly Weasley. He smiled a soft half smile, and nodded, completely ignoring my shocked gaze.

"It won't ever replace the one that was destroyed, and I'm sure that the memories attached to it will never wholly transfer, but it was the only one I could find on such short notice. Either your ancestors buried a great deal of the Weasley loot, or someone's doing a damnable job by hiding them from me. Either way, I believe this passed out of the family's hands sometime last century. Returning it to you now is a token gesture of my sincerest apology." His words were soft, and quiet, and left me little to nothing in the way of intelligent thought.

Draco Malfoy had just apologized to me, not, for the petty things we said as children, or the churlish insults he and Ron still exchanged to this day, but because he felt he'd done me, Ginny Weasley, some great disservice, or dealt me some wounding blow by shattering a piece of pottery. I was not sure if I should be appalled at the very idea of his niceness, or ashamed of myself for not professing my thanks. Not to mention ashamed for perpetrating the feud, even after all our parents were dead, and we had fought side by side to face a common enemy during the war.

"There were several other pieces along with this one. I had found out recently that your brother, Percival, was trying to procure them, but I wanted you to be the one to have this one." He cleared his throat nervously when I didn't answer. I hadn't touched my tea, and made no move to now. I had just enough presence of mind to keep my mouth closed, lest my jaw flap in an ungainly manner, and I further embarrass myself, far more than muteness ever could. I was being rude. I knew I had to say something.

"How did you know?" the question was blurted in quiet awe, and I'm sure that he knew the reasoning behind it. Instead of completely misinterpreting my vague question; instead of being the Malfoy I knew him to be, he shook his head.

"The look on your face was more than telling enough. You looked as if I'd personally closed my fingers around your heart and ripped it, still beating, from your chest. I meant to fix it with the spell, but then I saw the Weasley Crest. Heraldry has always been one of my strong points. If I'd ever been so clumsy as to break one of the Malfoy heirlooms, my mother would come back from the grave to haunt me. I didn't figure your mother was any different, and I doubted that she'd spare me. There was certainly no love lost between us. She thought, quite rightly, that I was a snot-nosed brat. But much has changed." I nodded slowly.

Draco Malfoy, was sitting in my living room having afternoon tea with me, Ginny Weasley. And to top it all off, he was not only carrying the conversation, but doing his best to be polite, and make amends for a freak accident that was in no part anyone's fault. I wasn't sure if demon's had ice skates, but it was certainly possible for them to being doing double axels in hell. My brothers would never believe it. My Father was probably rolling in his grave. Grandma Anathema probably thought the sun was about to explode, wiping away all traces of this apocalyptic happening.

"I … thank you. It will mean a great deal to pass this on to my daughter one day." I stated quietly, as my eyes filled with tears. Draco Malfoy, the self proclaimed snot-nosed brat had risen above his breeding and contempt to do something for me that I was unsure I'd ever be able to accomplish given a change of our places.

"Or son." He murmured. Shock was the least o my worries as I nodded in reply, and tears slid down my cheeks.

He regarded me uncomfortably for a moment before he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and drew out a perfectly folded white square of clothe. It was soft, and monogrammed with his initials, but he came and sat beside me awkwardly on the couch, and pressed it gently into my hands. I dabbed my eyes with it, thanking the gods in heaven that my nose wasn't running.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I don't mean to cry. It's just –" I trailed off as he shushed me, gently rubbing my back as I sobbed.

"Ms. We – Ginevra, I meant no disrespect. I only wished to replace that which I took from you. Please don't cry." His deep voice was soothing as it rumbled in his chest.

It sounded so simple when he said it. I didn't know whether I should be ashamed of myself, or relieved that he was taking this so well. Crying in front of Draco Malfoy had never been a fantasy of mine; in fact, there was nothing farther from it. If I had ever imagined the instance, it wouldn't be because of a kindness he granted, and I would never have imagined that he wouldn't encourage my tears with taunts and insults. Instead, he gingerly reached out and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, not caring that my tears would stain his pressed clothing, or that my name was Weasley, and his Malfoy, and things like this were just not done.

He hushed my tears and rubbed my back in gentle soothing circles, and when my sobbing subsided to gently hiccoughs and barely audible sighs, he held me at arms length and looked down at me, assessing the situation. He swiped my eyes gently, one and then the other, drying them with the forgotten handkerchief before patting my shoulder awkwardly.

"Perhaps it would have been wiser to send it by owl post, but I wanted to be sure nothing happened to it. I am deeply sorry for the intrusion. I'll just be one my way." He spoke quietly, gathering his cloak, and wand, finishing the last of his tea in a hurried gulp, and heading toward the door.

"Malfoy!" I called suddenly, "Draco, I… Stay. I'll make you something or…" I trailed off. He halted at the sound of his name. He seemed torn. I knew he felt it impolite to dash off the way he was. He would never have considered it at all, except that my sudden onslaught of tears had shaken him, and his comforting demeanor had shaken him all the more. He seemed to battle within himself, until finally he turned, draping his cloak over the arm of the nearby chair, and coming back to sit, edgily in the armchair he'd taken when he'd first arrived. I was pleased to note he was as on edge as I was, but I kept it to myself as I made my way to the kitchen.

"I've got some roast, or a casserole, but that needs to defrost a bit. Or I suppose I could make –"

"You could let me cook something, if I wouldn't be imposing? After all, it is me who owes you, not the other way around." He seemed surprisingly upbeat at the idea of preparing a meal, and I was too shocked to decline. I nodded dumbly, and he moved toward my kitchenette, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

"Ma- erm… Draco, you really don't have to do this." I found my voice as he opened the ice box and pulled out the lamb chops I'd been contemplating making for Hermione and Ron. He looked over his shoulder at me, though his hands stayed busy, removing the packaging and discarding it elegantly.

Suddenly it seemed that everything he did was done elegantly. It made me all the more uncomfortable to have him here in my tiny kitchen preparing food for me. I'd never even had a boyfriend cook for me, let alone a former enemy!

"I'll need a meat tenderizer, and access to your spice collection. Also, this dish requires an onion, an egg, some milk, bread crumbs, parsley, mint, butter and a little sugar." He murmured, completely ignoring my misgiving about him cooking.

"The cooking utensils are in the drawer to your left. The spices and herbs are in the third cupboard from the right, and I'll check if I have any onions." I moved toward the cold-box, to get the milk, butter, and an egg, and he began rummaging through my cupboards.

"Spices are to your right, above your head. Be careful, some of those are potions ingredients. Pots and pans are hanging behind you, and if you need anything, just holler. I'm going to finish my tea."

I set the ingredients on the table and headed toward the living room, and our forgotten teacups. I settled on the sofa, and cast a warming charm on my cup, gripping it in both hands as I tried desperately to fathom what was going on here. I stayed like that, lost in thought until a yell from the kitchen shook me out of my reverie.

I found Draco, eyebrow-less, and slightly singed, staring in shocked awe at my oven. I rushed to his side, checked him over, and made sure nothing was seriously injured or missing. After a few seconds he chuckled.

"Ginevra, had I known that your oven had the curse of Montebooma(1) on it, I would never have gone anywhere near it. Now, since I appear to have burned dinner, perhaps we should go out and get something?" He murmured, pulling my rose-patterned oven-mitts from his hands, and tossing them on the counter as he stood.

I stared as he straightened his tie. Had Draco Malfoy just made a joke? He dusted off his clothes, before pointing his wand at his face and casting a quick scourgify. I giggled. Now that his face wasn't blackened with soot he looked even worse without his eyebrows. I pointed my wand at him and cast Svilupcapel(2) spell. His golden arcs blossomed back into being, and he sauntered off toward my bathroom to have a look for himself.

"Thank you." He called from the bathroom, as I set to clearing away what was left of my lamb chops. He came back out and accio'd my cloak, tossing it nonchalantly over my shoulders as I was making a mental note to buy more lamb chops for Hermione.

"Let's go." He said as he turned to leave, grabbing his own cloak from the chair, and heading toward the door before I had a chance to argue. When I finally caught up with him, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly, and I was swept away in a side-along apparation.

.:||:.

Not to be confused with explosive diarrhea, or dysentery of any kind. Montebooma is the curse of small explosions removing all facial hair, or at the very least starting a forest fire in any nearby facial growth.

Svilupcapel is a literal translation of grow and hair in Italian. I figured it was close enough to Latin, and since I don't know any Latin I went with that. If anyone knows the Latin words for hair growth, let me know, I'd very much appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

Also, isn't it wonderful how we fanfic authors have up and decided that Draco Malfoy smells of spicy, expensive, cologne? Do you think he bathes in "Paul Sebastian"?


	2. Flatware 02

"Flatware"

**Chapter Two:**

I sighed in relief when my feet met the ground again. I was so nervous, being swept through the air by some intangible force, with another at my side, and under my protection. It was a feeling I had never felt before. There had never been anyone but myself.

Ginevra's hand was warm and small in mine, and I couldn't help but feel the sense of obligation that enveloped me, just as it had that fateful day at the Ministry. Where, for years, I'd managed to feel nothing but ambivalence, and occasionally disgust for the Weasley family at large, and now I felt totally indebted to and enthralled by their youngest child and only girl.

She sighed in relief next to me as she landed, keeping her feet, and act that elevated her to a new high in my ever growing esteem. When she shivered, pulling her cloak closer around her against the wind, I felt an unfamiliar pang of what could only be compunction for having forced her out of her home on a day like that one. She seemed not to notice my softened look and I did my best to wipe it from my face as we entered The Manticore, and were led to a table.

What did you expect me to do, lend her my cloak? I hadn't changed that much, although I admit my actions thus far had been bridging the gap between sanity and everything else.

Our table was in a private dining area with soft light and warmly toned furniture. I studied her as she relaxed into the plush leather of her chair, eyes lighting on our surroundings in a seemingly overwhelmed flurry. I smiled deprecatingly before I could catch myself.

"We could always go somewhere else. It's just that I happen to know that they've Lamb Chops on the menu, and they're absolutely excellent." I murmured gently. She blushed, her cheeks reddening only slightly as she shook her head, but it was enough. Enough to make me entirely uncomfortable, and to remind me of when things had changed.

It was all I could do not to lament the entire thing, bashing my head against the table repeatedly, and solidifying my place in her mind as the off one. There's one relative that everyone has that is absolutely bat-shit insane, and I was apparently slotting myself into her head as him.

To this day I cannot tell if, had I the opportunity to change the past, I wouldn't have just shoved myself out of the way; let us remain in utter contempt of one another, or let things fall just as they had, with her scraping for shards of her mother's precious flatware as I desperately wished I'd never had to get close enough to experience her pain.

The look on her face, and the tears running down my cheeks had evoked something inside me that I hadn't been aware I possessed. I had felt deeply sorry for the poor redhead, and more than that (much to my surprise and confusion) I wanted to do anything possible to make up for it.

Yes, it was a very un-Malfoyesque thing to think, and I'd say I'm deeply sorry to disappoint, but I'll not fall for that again.

When simply mending the plate had not been enough to mend the injustice I had caused I decided that there was only one other thing to be done. If the crest along the center of the piece was anything to go by, her reaction was warranted. There were many such pieces in the Malfoy household, and had any of them come to harm my mother would have come back from the grave to crucio me, repairo spell, or no.

It took little time to locate a similar piece, but haggling over the price had been a time waster, as I was gouged anyway, after reminding myself that it was impolite to bargain on the price of a gift(1). Actually calling it a gift had caused some consternation, but I quickly put it out of my head. No member of the Malfoy family had been ever the soul searching type.

I'd just like to note that that was probably how I got into this mess in the first place.

Delivery of the platter, and now dinner were altogether another matter, of which I was of two minds about. I knew that my motivation was eighty percent a feeling of indebtedness, and for what I wasn't entirely sure. But it was the other twenty percent that worried me. Ginevra was staring quietly at me across the table, her face openly trying to assess my motives. I wished her the best of luck. If I didn't know all the reasons I was doing this, she couldn't possibly figure them out.

She wore simple slacks and a button up, and though I knew she felt out of place, I was consoled that at least she didn't look it. Her things were simple cotton, not linens, expensive wools, or silks, but she looked natural, unforced, and though she was obviously just as edgy as I was, she appeared confident.

The waiter showed a diligence toward earning his tip that I wholeheartedly approved of, and we ordered a simple meal; small appetizer and entrée. The wine list was brought for our perusal, but I hesitated in offering it to her. It occurred to me that I knew not the slightest thing about her.

"Would you like a glass of wine with dinner?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my reluctance to be completely blunt. She smiled and stopped herself mid nod.

"Yes, that would be lovely." I was relieved that her answer hadn't been more disastrous. I hadn't expected that she had wine with dinner often, if at all, and for all I knew she could have hated the very idea of it. Her acceptance went well on its way to easing my discomfort. Small talk seemed in order.

"So, you work for the Ministry? Might I ask, in what capacity?" I murmured as the waiter poured our drinks and retreated quietly until he was needed.

"Yes, I'm a Senior Accountant for the Special Trades and Relations office. Although, these days, I rarely get to do any actual calculations other than exchange rate conversions of sales reports. Some days it seems there are enough reports on my desk to bury London." She blushed faintly as she trailed off, and I couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow.

"You enjoy numbers on fiddly bits of paper then, Ms. Weasley?" I almost cringed as her surname slipped past my lips, but it was out, and I hadn't been rude exactly. Just a little less tactful than I would have liked. She smiled, seeming to take it in a joking manner, for which I was relieved.

"I've got a great head for numbers. Always have. My parents were… frugal, and budgeting just comes naturally to me." Her face had clouded slightly and her guarded expression made me wince internally. I did seem to remember that she'd liked arithmancy, and numerology very much at Hogwarts. I recalled having made an off-color joke about it to Ronald, and I was starting to regret it desperately. I was sure that she remembered, if her reaction were anything to go by.

"Do you like working for Special Trades, then?" I started, trying to steer the conversation back to a comfortable topic. She seemed as relieved as I was to get as far away from our conversational mishap as possible. She was smiling again. I sighed in relief.

I will happily admit that she did have a lovely smile. That's all I'm willing to say on the subject, and Death-eater crucios couldn't drag any more from me.

"It certainly has its moments. I was recruited early, just out of University actually, and I've never really done anything else. In all honesty I've always wanted to do research analysis with statistics. Accounts are great, but all I really do is keep track of what's flowing in and out, and cost projection. I want to be able to decide where money goes and what good investments are and why." Her face was alight with a look I'd never seen on her.

Seeing her angry was probably a close second, but there was a love in her eyes that made the entire experience completely different. I could definitely see that this was something she was passionate about. It made me wonder what other things brought that heated look to her eyes. I noted sourly that the light died when she realized just how much she'd been talking. I smiled and nodded, as the conversation was paused with the arrival of dinner.

No, I won't tell you what types of things I imagined could bring such a look to the woman. Why don't you do some imagining about where I'll shove my wand if you keep asking those types of questions.

"Why don't you tell me a little about your business then?" she asked suddenly, steering the conversation onto a safer topic. Me.

I can't say I wasn't pleased to talk about myself. I am hansom, and charming, and wealthy, and … well, me.

"Which one? I own quite a few different businesses in all honesty. I've found that owning things outright allows me a lot more freedom to get the things done that need to be done without a lot of red tape and public relations. People don't have to like me to buy products produced by my company, nor do they have to know that it is me that they are buying from. It all seems to work out better the simpler and more logical my business dealings are."

"How many?" she looked honestly interested, and again I was taken aback.

What? It is rather surprising to find your families worst enemy (one of 6 still living) making an honest bid to get to know you, or showing a keen interest in you that doesn't involve pitchforks, or burning torches.

What? They are Weasleys you know.

"How many what?" I blurted, ingeniously. The look on her face would have been priceless if I hadn't been internally giving myself a working over at the very ridiculousness of my question.

It certainly wasn't like me to put my foot in my mouth in such a way, and I was positive that she was wondering if perhaps I had indeed gone off the deep end and was in need of a room in the locked ward at Saint Mungo's.

"Businesses. How many businesses do you own?" she leveled an odd look at me, (probably wondering if I was paying the slightest bit of attention), and I paused in calculation.

"Well, I own eleven different companies outright and am partnered with and have the lions share of Board seats in 30 or so others, and that's not including small businesses and subsidiaries. Private investing is something I take great pride in."

"That somehow seems like a lot more than I thought. Although if I give myself time to consider stock options and so on it actually seems pretty reasonable, if a little on the meek side. You should think about expanding. There's no reason why the Malfoy name shouldn't be a powerful contender in the business arena, and you've got some very powerful friends, Draco."

I gave her an appraising look for four reasons. One, Ginevra Weasley was giving me business advice, and two, to put a tin lid on it all, I wholeheartedly agreed with her. Three, I was absolutely positive she was making a joke at my expense, but for the time being, the former matter seemed more important.

There was also the fourth matter of her using my given name, just as she'd done at her flat, but for the life of me I couldn't focus on that for more than a few seconds without feeling like my head would explode. I nodded in agreement, trying to find the words to express my approval, when I was interrupted by a rather familiar Italian lilt just over my left shoulder.

"Yes, Draco has very powerful friends indeed." Blaise Zabini's voice washed over me, and I could hear the smirk in his voice, effectively cutting me off, and I wasn't sure whether to strangle him, or eviscerate him as severely as possible. There was the option of kissing him soundly on the lips, but I wasn't sure I went in for that sort of thing. The look on my face was obviously telling. Blaise grinned wickedly.

"I'm sorry, Draco, am I interrupting something?"

It's been known ever since the dawn of Wizardom that haggling over the price of a gift is not only bad form, but it will call down the unknown curses of the gods on your head. Buying on sale is entirely acceptable though. You have been warned.

**Author's Note: **I had this weird feeling that this chapter was extremely boring. Originally I would have liked Draco to be wittier, and not as long winded. There was little to no action either. I went back and revised this chapter. He's closer to the character I envisioned in my head which is wonderful. At any rate, that seemed like the best place to stop, since I'm not continuing with Draco's POV next chapter. Lament that you shall never know the inner workings of Draco's mind any better than this. :D Sorry, couldn't resist.

Also, you first readers may notice I tweaked the first chapter a bit, but not much. The plot is still the same; don't get your nether regions in a twist.


	3. Flatware 03

**Chapter Three:**

"Mind if we join you?" I continued as if no one had spoken, and Draco wasn't giving me a hard disapproving look. My date was beautiful, brunette, and totally boring. I had been planning a hasty escape when I caught sight of a white blonde halo that absolutely screamed "Malfoy".

Draco Malfoy having dinner at the Manticore was nothing new. But Draco Malfoy having dinner with a redhead who'd never wanted anything to do with him that didn't involve cursing his bollocks off was something else entirely. Especially considering that Ginevra Weasley probably hadn't invited Draco Malfoy to the Manticore. It wasn't exactly the type of place the girl frequented.

That begged the question, why the hell had Draco invited _her_ here? I didn't know the answer and finding out would be lots more fun than thinking of a way to tell Arianne (or was her name Tania?) that while the sight of her was quite delicious, I had no intention of listening to her talk for more time than was necessary to bed her. I knew through personal experience that most women didn't appreciate such sentiments.

I dragged my date through the restaurant, skirting tables, and not bothering when a waiter moved to intercept us. I casually tossed him a glace as we passed, and he halted mid-stride, painful indecision on his plain features. My date was boring a questioning look right throw the middle of my shoulders, and I calmly ignored it, much to her haughty disbelief. I would have laughed inwardly at her if I hadn't been concentrating on the unnatural couple in front of me.

I motioned to a waiter sharply, and was promptly seated at an adjoining table, much to Draco's discomfort, which I was sure only I noticed. He was doing his best to pretend I wasn't there. My date wasn't having any of that though; the money grubbing harpy.

"Are you _the_ Draco Malfoy?" she asked tactlessly, and I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Ginevra, for her part had no such qualms, and I was duly impressed. My date shot her a politely disinterested look, effectively brushing her off, which I could plainly see was not alright with the redhead. Not alright at all. Draco never had a chance to formulate a response.

"It's a rather uncommon name, and the Malfoy's only had one heir. It's very clear that finishing school's don't certify intelligence at graduation, and that their ability to transfer tact to the student body, while obviously very satisfactory, isn't the least bit helpful for the more desperate cases." My respect for the only female Weasley was growing by increasing amounts the more she talked.

Jasmine obviously didn't agree (I do believe it was Jasmine, my mistake). She sniffed delicately, in her best approximation of shocked disbelief, something I knew was not the case, and moved on to introduce herself without any help from me.

"Francoise Nacelle, and very please to meet you." She directed at Draco, with her best smile flashing across perfect white teeth. She turned slowly to Ginny, giving her a victorious smirk. I forgot her name again a few seconds later.

"And you are?" she asked in a tone of voice that left no question that she'd taken Ginny's comments as an act of war. I wondered vaguely where exactly that left me, before I decided it left me most probably better off. They were both Draco's problem now. Pity that, the red head looked like fun.

"This is my date, Ginevra Weasley. We **were** just discussion business ventures." Draco was smooth, tactful and disrespectful all in one, and I admired the ability. Ginny seemed surprised, though she hid it better than I might have imagined. Gina didn't seem to notice her minute discomfort. Of course she was also a lot less tactful than Draco was.

"Discussing Business, were you? I can't imagine what Ms. Weasley has an aptitude for business that could impress one such as yourself, Draco." The small signs of Draco's discomfort were downright funny, if nigh imperceptible. His eyes narrowed a fraction, and his fist clenched his napkin rather harder than was necessary. Ginevra and I shared a look.

"Quite honestly, I was delighted to find that Ginevra works for the Ministry in an accounting capacity for Special Trades. I was in the midst of trying to entice her to working for me in a similar capacity. She's quite talented, and has already made some suggestions that sound downright ingenious." Draco was doing his best to smooth the conversation, and I felt sorry for the poor sod. It didn't work.

"Well, I'm sure I meant no disrespect," Françoise sniffed, and Ginevra smiled winsomely. It was a very pretty (If rather devious) smile.

"Harpies never do." She murmured just loudly enough. Draco cleared his throat anxiously as he made to stand.

"It was lovely to have met you. I am dearly sorry that we have to call this dinner short." Draco's tone was indeterminate, and his feelings were masked, but I could tell two things. One, he disapproved wholeheartedly with everything my French companion had said, and two, he wished I'd die a painful preferably very public death. The bastard probably wanted pictures so he could relish the moment.

"Check Please?" Ginevra called, and we were left to watch as they exited the restaurant, Ginevra's arm in his. I almost laughed aloud.

"So, desert?" I turned to my date almost smirking. She growled at me, cursing me in rapid-fire French, and I did my best not to laugh in her face.

"I guess not." I murmured, grin spreading as I beckoned to a waiter so we could pay our tab. She stormed out, without a backward glance, and I headed for the door whistling jauntily to myself.

My date was nowhere to be found, and a simple point me spell told me everything I needed to know about Ginevra Weasley's flat. The sight of Draco Malfoy standing awkwardly on her door step was just too much to pass up.

.:|:.

Ginny was standing in the door of her apartment building, staring awkwardly up into Draco's face when I peaked around the corner. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but reading lips would suffice.

"I'm very sorry about dinner. Had I known that Blaise would intrude I wouldn't have taken you there." Draco was apologizing for more than likely the third time since they'd left. Ginny was smiling oddly at him. That boded very well for my blonde haired friend.

"It's not so bad as you might think, Ma-Draco. I enjoyed it very much." She paused and I could see Draco had stopped breathing as he awaited her next words.

"Were you serious about offering me a job?" She asked quietly. I could see the muscles in his shoulders tense slightly.

"If I were, would you consider it?" I closed my eyes, silently hoping that this wouldn't blow up in his face.

"I suppose that depends on what the offer included. I'm not… The Ministry job is different than I thought it would be. Maybe it's time for a change." She murmured half to herself. I could see she was deep in thought, and Draco was about to get singed in some way.

"Would you care to think about it, and set up a meeting with me once you know what your terms are?" I openly winced, smacking my head as he backed off instead of pressing his advantage.

"I'll do just that. Goodnight, Draco." She murmured as the door clicked shut. I could see him sag slightly as he turned away, and I watched as he walked toward my corner, searching for a safe apparation point. His face frosted over when he saw me leaning nonchalantly against a lamppost.

"What the devil is your problem, and why the bloody hell are you following me?!"


	4. Flatware 04

**Chapter Four:**

"You should have kissed her." Blaise murmured, totally ignoring my question in favour of some perverse pleasure that involved making me feel like absolute shite. My composure broke and I leveled my wand at him.

"You've got about 3 seconds to A. get out of my way, or B. give me one terribly good reason why I shouldn't hex your bloody bollocks off right now." My voice was deadly calm, and I was seething.

"I've got three good reasons," my hand tightened on my wand as he continued, "I've got beers at my place, and an idea on how to _attragga il vostro amore della signora_(1)." Blaise was smirking, and I wished more than anything to crucio it right off his ever loving mouth, but something stopped me.

"What's the third reason?" I ground out irritably. He chuckled, and my glare intensified.

"I'm your best mate." Blaise murmured. I lowered my wand. If by best mate he meant only mate, then I supposed that he was exactly right. Theo and Pan's didn't count. Those two were little more than drinking buddies who bought their own booze.

"Alright you overgrown Italian monkey. Since you've ruined my evening, I suppose it's only right that you try to salvage it in some way," I threw over my shoulder as I turned to leave; "and she is **not** my Lady Love."

.:||:.

Blaise's flat was impeccably furnished and just this side of messy. The man was admittedly a born, baptized, communed, and confirmed bachelor, but in all honestly I expected his house elves to have some sense of decorum and decency.

"Is Ava on vacation?" I asked, contempt dripping from my words. Blaise didn't shrug, like I'd assumed he would.

"I sent him home to look after mama. I'm perfectly capable of a few scourgifies here and there." He gestured lazily with his wand.

I couldn't help it. I raised an eyebrow. Besides the fact that his house elf didn't have a proper name (my house elf, Knobsy, came to mind), by the look of things he was indeed not as capable as he seemed to think, but I let it slide. This entire day had been one tension filled moment after another, and I was exhausted.

I picked my way across his lounge, settled on his chic black leather couch and leaned back silently against the headrest, pressing my palms to my eyes to alleviate the pressure of one of the most nerve wracking days I'd had in a long time.

Blaise had accio'd some beers from the kitchen, and I sat up at the sound of the cap being screwed off. He passed me one of the dark green bottles and too a swig from his own as he collapsed onto the couch opposite me.

"So," he murmured taking another swig, "you like her." I stared. If that was all he had to say in the way of evidence, I a/. didn't have to respond and incriminate myself, and b/. wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of being right. I raised an eyebrow.

"You went by her apartment, no wait, let's start again. You, "King of all Slytherin", broke a dish, and actually went to the trouble of _repairing_ it instead of just leaving her with a sneer to send her on her way. _Then_, to top it all off, you then went on a _noble_ quest in search of one to replace it. You then proceeded to hand delivered it to la Mademoiselle (Something, I might add, that you were sure would at least get you a severing spell to the bollocks), and instead somehow ended up taking her to dinner."

"Yes." I said simply. Close-mouthedness was probably my best friend at that point.

"Care to explain?" Blaise was laughing at me in his head. I could tell. The smirk on his lips was only a minor reminder of the fact that he probably suspected a fair amount of what had happened, and what's worse, he was probably right. Bloody Slytherins.

"No." I growled quietly. If he was going to laugh, I was going to leave. I made to stand, but his voice stopped me.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't there something mentioned at dinner about offering her a job? Talented though she may be, she's still a Weasley," my glare could probably have corroded gold, "erm, no offense meant, mate." Blaise finished.

"I asked her about work. She seemed interested in business, so I told her about mine. She said I was being meek. Me! Then she made some suggestions, and I found myself agreeing with her," I tried to explain, but it seemed like everything was getting jumbled around in my head, "She made sense, Blaise! With all the ventures I've got my hand in, and all the enemies my family's made, I'm in over my head. I need someone like her."

"So hire an accountant." Blaise mused taking another sip of his beer. I felt myself flush slightly with unreasonable rage.

"I don't want some bloody tosser who'll bow and scrape and brown nose his way to the business end of my wand, and the company into the pocket of some smarter than average investor with Galleons coming out his ears! I _need_ someone who if faced with my wand will give me a good wallop around the ears."

"Well, if you're in the market for an investor who wouldn't want your company with anything but an immediate death, I'm your man. And if you really think she's the one for the job, offer it to her."

"I did offer it to her!" I'd lost my head, and started saying things I shouldn't. This was bad.

"No, you told the bird I was with that you were offering it to her. Then you proceeded to get questioned about it on her doorstep, and offered her an option, to which she basically told you, I'll owl you. And we both know what "I'll owl you" means." Blaise was going to get a crucio in the bloody wad if he kept that up.

"Instead of giving me a detailed breakdown of everything I did wrong," I snarled, doing my best to calm myself, "perhaps you've got something constructive to impart?" my voice was calm again, and I'd got a grip on my anger, but inside I was kicking myself. She had told me she'd "owl me". What was worse, was that I didn't think I'd ever had such a terrible date. Worse than that, I was considering this a date.

"Alright, Draco, you got it. You want advice? Here's some. Why not start from the beginning, tell me everything that happened, in chronological order, and then we can _faccia con il commercio"_ Blaise finished his beer and accio'd another one, and I could tell we were going to be here for awhile.

"Alright," I started, "When I got to her house …" and I told him. Everything. How I'd let her cry on me. How I'd basically allowed her stove to not only attack, but get the better of me and my eyebrows. How she'd _fixed_ them instead of laughing herself sick. How she'd _offered_ me, a Malfoy, a home cooked meal, and finally how he'd crashed our date that was not a date. Blaise laughed inappropriately. I glared. Finally he seemed to catch his breath.

"You gave her your pocket square!" He bellowed in astonishment." I raised my wand again.

"Alright, alright, you haven't done half bad. There was no reoccurrence of the bat boogie hex, and you've still got all of your bits." He said between guffaws.

"So, what do I do now?" I asked flatly. He sighed.

"You're probably not going to like this. You're going to have to be charming." He started off, probably taken in the throws of passionate plotting, and I felt my ire grow with every word he uttered. Finally I could take no more.

"You want me to … 'chat up' the Weasel's sister?!" I was speechless with anger.

"Well, Draco, by rights, you've already gone out on a date with her. Not to mention, you've been obsessed with the poor girl for over a year." Blaise laughed. I was two seconds away from have one less best mate in the world. It had _not_ been a date.

(1)_ "attragga il vostro amore della signora"_ – attract your lady love (literally it means "it attracts your love of the mrs". But don't get so twisted up in literal translation.

(2) ) "_faccia con il commercio"_ – get down to business.

**Authors Note: **This chapter didn't go exactly to plan, but no worries, we'll get to the real meat next chapter. Backstabbing abounds, bad pickup lines (I'm joking!) and more interestingly, Ginny not telling him where to stick it. Or should that say, "To stick it somewhere painful?"


	5. Flatware 05

**Chapter Five:**

I've always thought that it was important to sit back and enjoy the nicer things in life. There are far too many things out there destined to make people unhappy. Giving yourself time to appreciate the brighter side is always the best course of action.

So when I found myself in one of the special access Ministry lifts with a flushed and slightly sweaty Ginny Weasley headed my way, yelling for me to hold the door, I obliged, taking in the mass of soft red hair that fell down her back in tendrils, and internally shaking my head at Draco's clear lack of brains when it came to the girl in front of me.

As she collapsed next to me, breathing hard and desperately trying to catch her breath, I conceded that perhaps my best friend wasn't the only idiot when it came to this girl. I obviously had no intention of moving in on my best friend's stake, but she wasn't just yet, was she? Surely she just needed a little push in the right direction. It couldn't hurt if I got a little action in the process.

"Take a picture, Zabini, it'll last longer." She smirked up at me, chest still heaving, and breathy voice doing things to me that should probably have been illegal.

"True, but she'd be blowing me kisses one minute, and miming my castration the next. I'd much rather have a three dimensional facsimile. There are so many more benefits." I leered at her a little. She raised an eyebrow. I felt my pants tighten in the most uncomfortable way. Draco was obviously rubbing off on her.

"You wouldn't be suggesting that I was a delectable brainless tart set on marrying you and somehow extorting large sums of money from you in a divorce settlement, would you Blaise?" she absolutely purred my name, and for a second I forgot to be insulted.

"Well, no, I was suggesting that you'd be absolutely fantastic in bed, but, Ginny, Darling, whatever do you mean by delectable brainless tart?" I murmured in my best seductive tone. She made an indeterminate sound in her throat.

"Blaise Zabini, don't you even think about hitting on me. I've seen the women you date. You know exactly what I mean. A certain Francoise Nacelle comes to mind." Her deadly whisper made the bulge in my pants tighten further, and I thanked gods for voluminous robes.

"While stunningly attractive she was, she was hardly a brainless tart. And as for hitting on you, I was thinking more along the lines of dinner and a show?" and by show, I really meant peep-show. No, on second thought I didn't want just a peep, and I was planning to show her _everything_.

Ginevra Weasley had the audacity to blush at this rather innocuous statement, so clearly I'd got my point across. The elevator doors popped open, and she step out quickly, not turning around at my parting comment.

"I'm looking forward to picking you up this Friday at 8!" the doors closed in my face and I was sure that her blush would last at least the walk to her cubicle. She probably planned on working late this Friday just in case, but I had never been anything if I wasn't a cunning ex Slytherin.

Draco met me for lunch at a nearby café and we took a seat toward the back for privacy. He'd brought several company profiles with him for me to peruse, and I was in the middle of discussing the merits of Exports, and Spell Design companies to invest in when two very familiar faces walked in. Draco's back was to them, and I was sure he hadn't noticed the entrance of my previous fling and the man who happened to be the Vice President of one of his major companies.

If he had he might have spit out the mouthful he'd just taken right into my face. A predatory gleam entered my eye as they moved toward a private room. I quietly excused myself and followed them expertly casting a Disillusionment spell on myself. Things had just gotten interesting.

"- yes, but how will I manage that? I'm fairly certain I've offended him." Aiobeanne murmured quietly. She was standing with her back to Pier Garneau, and I was certain that she wasn't talking about me.

"Zabini is no longer of any use, after your behavior either, but it is clear that Malfoy would never lower himself to date the Weasley girl," I had my doubts about this statement, but I obviously wasn't about to share them with the other occupants of the room, "they were clearly discussing business. Offended or not, you'll just have to use your wiles to get close to him again."

I raised an eyebrow at this last. They wanted to be close to Draco, and clearly they'd been using me to do it. A few previously innocuous events slotted themselves into my mind. She'd asked nonchalantly about my dinner plans on one too many occasions. I'd simply assumed she knew I was cheating. She had asked if she might join Draco and I for lunch once, something about wanting to see me, but I'd quickly talked my way out of that.

"Yes," she murmured in a sulky tone, "but, uncle he's not the same as Zabini. Draco Malfoy doesn't chase just any woman. I doubt a low cut shirt and suggestive smile will be his undoing. He's far more likely to spill his secrets to his accountant Weasley than he is to me!" Her tone was offended, and angry. He didn't seem to care.

"Well, find another position to use then. He's more likely to tell his private affairs to a common office worker? Then you, my dear, will have to get a job. How does secretary sound?" the vase crashed just above my head, showering me in broken pottery, and I felt a trickle of blood down my neck. She obviously hadn't liked that idea. I, however, could see its merits, and it's dangers.

I left before she had a chance to throw anything else at me, inadvertently or not. I rejoined Draco deep in thought. While he'd not likely trust his secrets to the woman who took his calls, I could undoubtedly see that she would come across lots of damaging information in her everyday tasks and duties. No one would question Draco Malfoy's personal secretary requesting private documents, or ledgers. Contracts, business venture plans, even dinner menus would be at her fingertips.

There were few men who'd likely question anything coming from the lips of someone with a smile that pretty, assuming that they ever noticed her lips while glancing down at her cleavage. I was slightly affronted that she thought I'd be dumb enough to let a mere plaything in on the other parts of my life. She'd been my latest flavour of the week, and nothing more. She'd only been to my flat once, and she'd certainly never met any of my friends.

"I'd thought you'd be more interested in Exports, but Spell Design and Development in a lucrative and expanding field, so I can imagine you'd definitely make more money that way. If I can get Ginny Weasley on board I'll have the numbers to you by the end of the month." Draco was saying as I tuned back into the conversation. I nodded mutely and stood, doffing my hat as I wandered out of the shop and to the apparation point, disappearing with a soft pop.

.:||:.

Ginevra Weasley was still the her office when I knocked on her cubicle wall, and she jumped spinning around in her chair to glare at me for the intrusion. Her glare was fleeting as she caught sight of me, and she sighed quietly before inviting me in.

"What do you want, Zabini?" she asked quietly. It was a testament to how dire I found the situation that I barely paused to make a pass at her.

"There are so very many things, but we'll talk about that later. I need your help." I murmured quietly, and she raised that damnable eyebrow at me as I desperately tried to explain.

My explanation was meant with silence, and then a barely disguised chuckle and I did my best to hide my impatience. The girl was damnable in every way, but this was taking it to an extreme that I wasn't sure I could fathom.

"If you don't wish to help that's fine. But I'd have thought that being singularly responsible, not only for making sure that that harpy fails in her every mean spirited attempt, but also saving Draco from financial annihilation would be two tasks too good to pass up. After all, afterwards he'd owe you his very life." I stood to leave, and I would have too if she hadn't caught my hand in her smaller one, and firmly yanked me back down into my chair.

"Zabini," she started, but I interrupted her.

"Blaise, Darling, call me Blaise." She huffed quietly but continued.

"Blaise," she said, and I smiled winsomely, "this isn't just some joke to get me to accept the job he didn't manage to offer me, is it? Because if I accept that roundabout offer, and this is some sort of ridiculous stunt to get me to agree, I'll"

"I'll prove it. Got a pensive handy?" I asked tossing her another smile.


End file.
